


Destiny Is All

by solarlotus



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Injured!Uhtred, Injury, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Possessive Uhtred, Protective Finan, long time lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24538804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarlotus/pseuds/solarlotus
Summary: Untred has traveled to Wales to recover from a deadly injury, he and his men are journeying back and Uhtred is regaining his strength and his interest in his long time love, Finan. Established Relationship, fluff and a smidgen of possessive!Uhtred.
Relationships: Finan/Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Comments: 14
Kudos: 43





	Destiny Is All

**Author's Note:**

> I have mixed up a bit of book and show here. This is set somewhere after series 4. In the books Uhtred travels to Wales to be cured of a stab wound. Here he does this but after the series 4 timeline. I have tried to be accurate to book place names, but I make have slipped. I have, however, gone along with the shows hints that Eadith will end up with Finan, not Uhtred. This is firmly a Finan/Uhtred story, however in my AU the boys get married etc as is expected of them in the society they live i and happily so, their wives are most definitely the 'other woman' though!  
> A big thank you to my lovely friend Lancette for all her encouragement, writing nights and beta reading. This would never have been written without you. xxx

Destiny is all. I often say this to my men, to my servants, my children especially and to myself. It is destiny I am here on this beach in Wealas waist deep in sea water as Finan unwinds the bandage around my wound as instructed by the monks at St David’s.

‘How is it?’ I ask him. It feels better, no longer stinks with malady and aches with decay. He freezes as a white breaker washes over us, swears and shakes his head.

‘The skin has healed,’ he says. I turn around and look at him properly.

‘And it is gone, the rotten flesh?’ I ask tentatively as he grabs a piece of floating seaweed and wipes the remains of the honey and silk poultice from my skin.

Finan is grinning at me and I don’t think I have seen him look so happy in months. He hurls the bandages out into the waves and ducks his head under the water, almost roaring as he surfaces, shaking the water out of his hair and beard. I laugh, he catches my eye and then my shoulders and tugs me into the water too. Bastard.

Finan is lithe and quick, but fearsomely strong, I have seen him lift Eadith above his head and I am sure, if he had to, he could carry me. The water is a shock and I hit the sandy sea floor before I find my footing and surface, lunging at him and grabbing his waist. The game is on, I am delighted. I am strong again, Finan loves me more than any man alive, if I am well enough to grapple with I will live and wield Serpent Breath in battle again.

We both surface after a few minutes panting and dripping. ‘You are well again,’ he says to me, grinning.

‘There was no doubt,’ I reply with a cocky smile as I shake water from my hair, though I know that is not true.

‘Don’t you ever do that to me again,’ he chides, touching the gold cross around his neck. ‘You have given me more grey hairs in the past couple of months…’

‘You are not grey!’ This is debatable, we both have a few greys at our temples, but Finan is as handsome a man as he ever was. I say he has always been handsome, I tell women that often and it is no lie, especially as the sun starts to dip across the horizon on a warm day over the sea, but when I first saw him he was ravaged.

We were slaves when we met, it seems like a lifetime ago now, but the scars are always with us, on our skin and seared in our souls. He had been on the slave ship months already and he had sores on his forehead and cheeks raw with the wind, salt and sun. His beard and hair were wild, but he still had a fierceness in his eyes. I never thought him handsome then, such thoughts did not occur, survival was all that mattered. We were starved things, huddled together for warmth, both covered in sores and lice; barely men, barely human as we struggled to stay alive and know who we were.

The only thing I saw were his eyes, they were the only thing that still belonged to him, Finan the warrior. Our bodies were not our own, we lost all dignity and comfort beyond imagining. The day he put a sword through Sverri’s throat he was my hero, just as Earl Ragnar had been when he adopted me.

We lay together under the furs in Ragnar’s camp that night, huddled together for warmth as was our way, despite the furs and tent. ‘Why did you not say we are brothers?’ I had asked him, unable to ignore the doubt tugging at my heart.

‘I never want a brother again,’ he replied. ‘You are so much more than that.’

Finan never flinched from me then, when I was half starved, barely able to wield a sword and covered in scabs. I could see Ragnar flinched, he tried not to, but I looked like his worst fear. Hild, may the angels bless her, could never show such a feeling, but the look of desire in her eyes for me had gone.

Finan did not take his eyes off me. Each night we would tend each other’s wounds by the firelight, we became meticulous in our grooming and washing, combing each other’s hair out each morning and evening and plaiting it again; Finan began to paint my eyes with charcoal in the Danish style, his fingers gently caressing my face in a way I had not felt for years.

He does not flinch from me now either, now I am injured, older. He does not care that I have an ugly scar scooping out the flesh on my side that twists and disfigures me joining the other scars and lines on my face and body. He is holding me now, laying me on my back in the water and gently singing in his native Irish tongue.

‘What do you sing of?’

‘Stubborn bastards,’ he says gruffly.

‘Are you singing me a ballad?’ I tease.

‘Do you want me to drown you?’

‘There are many things I want you to do,’ I tease further. Our men are on the beach, we can do nothing but I love to wind him up like this, it makes him fierce when we are alone. When everyone fears you it is good to be with someone who is unafraid.

‘We need time alone,’ Finan sighs. ‘In a bed, with furs and a fire.’

We would not get that until we were back at my estate in Mercia. ‘Do you remember the first time we had a bed and furs?’ I ask, smiling.

‘Yes, I probably still have bed bugs from that place. The Hog’s Head, the finest whorehouse in Loidis.’ He rests his chin on my head for a moment and I feel his smile. ‘Did Ragnar ever find out you paid the whores to go away?’

‘Of course not.’ I laugh remembering my lost brother, who had been so worried about my lack of interest in humping women he had paid for Finan and I to spend two nights at the best whorehouse in Loidis. I only had a mind to marry Gisela and of course I was being satisfied with Finan every night, who himself had sworn never to love again.

We were still covered in scabs from the sores and lashes of the slave ship when we reached Loidis. I could not face the disgust of a woman paid to endure me and I knew Finan could not either. There was no forbearance when we were together. I knew every inch of his skin, every scar, every hair, every line on his face, the breadth of his soul as he knew mine and I loved every part of him. We spent two days pleasuring each other on a straw mattress in front of a small fire and when we left we were men again.

He is hauling me to my feet now and insisting we have had long enough in the water, that it’s too cold and I must not catch a chill. I know better than to argue so go quietly and let him put another bandage around my middle even though I do not need it. He barks orders at men to fetch more wood for the fire to warm me as I am dried and dressed, bring ale, bring food, bring furs. Eventually I tell him to stop and cover his own nakedness before he catches a chill.

Manorbier has a hall on a hill overlooking a sandy bay with a stream running between the hills onto the beach and good farmland. There is an old fort and burial ground of the Britons on the opposite side of the little bay that is said to be haunted by the ghosts of those ancient people. The locals won’t farm that hill, but they leave offerings to the dead on All Hallow’s Eve and Midsummer, in defiance of the priests. They are used to pilgrims here making the long trek to distant St David’s, but not to pagans.

Nevertheless, we have been given hospitality within the gates by the so-called local lord, who is really a jumped-up farmer. Basic as it is my men set up camp within the walls, Finan and I are given a bed within the hall and a meal of fish and barley stew.

‘We want a boat,’ I tell our hosts. ‘Will we get one near here, we have silver.’

I see greedy eyes scanning our bodies for said silver, besides our arm rings, my hammer and Finan’s cross it is not obvious that we carry great wealth and no man would fancy his chances prizing those off our living bodies.

‘There is a bay along the coast some more, Etmic Dinbych,’ Afan, the weaselly lord tells us. I believe him, if he had boats here he would sell them for silver. This is smallest hall I have ever seen called a hall, the wall I could jump over and there are a few huts scattered around the yard. For such a rich land it is poor reward. The only thing they have put any wealth into is, of course, the church, which, come a raid from the Danes, will be stripped. Compared to St David’s it is poor fair and I wonder how long it will survive.

‘How far is this place?’ Finan asks.

‘As the crow flies, less than a day’s ride,’ Afan says with a gap-toothed grin. He isn’t an old man, but his demeanour is one of a man who has given up on life. ‘But you’ll take longer than that even following the coast path.’

I feel Finan touch my arm, his fingers light at first then closing on my forearm as I stay tensed and start to speak.

‘We can buy food and ale,’ Finan says. ‘To get us there and pay you for your hospitality.’

Afan grins at that, his greedy mind no doubt full of our silver already. I catch him staring at Finan’s golden cross again. Or perhaps he is staring at Finan, he wouldn’t be the first man to do so. He would not grin if he knew how many such men I have killed.

‘There is a good sleeping spot by the fire, lord,’ Afan tells me. ‘I will make sure you have it and furs.’

‘And for Finan,’ I say.’

‘I was going to suggest Finan could sleep beside me, the Welsh and Irish tongue are not so different…’ I am out of my seat before he has finished speaking, tensed with fury. Afan now looks terrified and knocks over his cup of ale, sending liquid running all over the table and onto his trousers. My hand flies to my seax and I only stop when I see Finan creased in laughter next to me.

‘Lord,’ he says rubbing his eyes in mirth. ‘Sit down, lord.’ He tugs my arm. ‘Uhtred, sit.’

‘I will not!’ I scowl, look around the hall, everyone is waiting for my next move. ‘I need to piss,’ I say, storming out the hall.

~

Finan and I are on a hill above the village. There is a full moon illuminating the smoke rising from the hall and the small steadings scattered around it. The sea is silver, a gently rippling streak between the hills and we can hear waves crashing onto the beach. It is the only sound, other than the occasional bark from dogs in the village.

‘Are you going to go back?’ Finan asks.

‘He is a turd,’ I say petulantly.

‘With a fire and furs and it’s getting cold.’

‘Keep me warm,’ I move closer to Finan and put the arm on my good side around him. He kisses my cheek. ‘There, warmer already.’

‘How is your side?’ he asks me.

‘It would be better if you kiss it better,’ I tell him. He will too, the women I lie with will look at that scar with a horrified fascination. It looks as though someone has taken a spoon and scooped out my flesh.

‘Uhtred, when I have my way with you, you’re going to be begging for mercy,’ he growls in my ear.

I laugh and grab the front of his tunic, kiss him fiercely, I can tell he is surprised as it takes him a moment to respond. When we break away he is holding my face in his hands.

‘You cannot start what we cannot finish,’ he tells me firmly.

‘Then finish it,’ I challenge.

‘Uhtred,’ he warns.

‘There is no one here.’ I surge forward and kiss him again, the heat building within me. The desire has flooded back since the contamination left me, I have a well of longing and it is for Finan, my greatest companion, my greatest love.

This time he doesn’t stop me.

~

Etmic Dinbych is a fishing village with sandy beaches and a monastery on a rock in the bay. There is another monastery on an island just offshore, so enough fat monks to keep even Aelswith happy. More usefully for us it is replete with fishing boats and even trading vessels that come from Lundene, Frankia and Eireland.

We arrive during feast of St Silas so all the Christians amongst my men join the monks, priests and townsfolk on a procession to the local church to pray to the relics of some saint. Apparently, Osferth tells me later, they have the hair of St David and the thigh bone of St Edmund. Finan told me he prayed on the thigh bone of St Edmund for my continued recovery, I thanked him of course, but the gods are cruel. He may as well have prayed to the bones of the crab Sihtric and I found on the beach while they were in church.

At lease we know our gods are cruel, we are playthings and the spinners decide our fate. We can only pray the gods favour us, but they do not love us as the Christians think their nailed god loves them.

That night everyone got drunk and the whorehouses of Etmic Dinbych did a roaring trade, so I suppose someone’s prayers were answered.

We hire the boat and crew of a trading vessel bound for Frankia who agree to sail up the Seafern to drop us deep into Mercia in exchange for a good fee in silver. They are Danes, which pleases me as they knew how to sail and the boat is well made, not one of these clunky Saxon craft. Her name is Sea Serpent and has a dragon’s-head prow which they will attach when we were in open water and is captained by a young Dane called Bjorn, who I immediately like. He is tall, with a sharply angled face and long fair hair plaited down his back. Bjorn tells me he had been sailing since he was a boy and loves nothing better than the sea.

‘I love nothing better than the land,’ Finan says, shuddering.

‘This is a short voyage,’ Bjorn tells Finan brightly. ‘But I have been as far as Snealand, it is a magical land, some say of ice and fire.’

‘We’ve been,’ Finan says darkly. ‘The Christian hell and pagan hell. Freezing winters and no land to farm…’

I put my hand on his shoulder, I know he is remembering that dark time we had been forced to row north to where volcanoes and ice covered the land and Norsemen settled. Many did not believe such a place existed back then, but now we traded with Snealand.

‘A tale for another day,’ Bjorn says, reading the mood well. ‘We will get provisions stocked today and sail on the morning tide, lord. You’re going home,’ he smiles at Finan.

I look at Finan as Bjorn turned and busied himself with the boat. Finan and I are standing on the sand, there are herring gulls circling overhead as the fishing boats approaching the harbour, waiting to swoop and take their share of the catch. I twist the ends of my beard between my fingers.

‘I know you hate the sea,’ I say. ‘But it is the quickest way. And safest.’

‘We’re going home,’ he smiles. ‘Home.’

And I know it will be well.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this. I haven't written anything for absolutely ages, I guess lockdown is good for something. I hope to make this a 3 part story. All will not be well when the boys get home as you may have guessed as nothing is simple in Uhtred's life!
> 
> Thank you for reading.


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